This bottle in my hand is my only friend in the universe. The only one I need, anyway.

I sit, well half sit and half lay on the couch in the barely furnished living room of Kara's apartment and stare blankly at the wall. My head rolls off lazily to my right and my eyelids feel like anvils suspended in the air by only fishing wire. Somehow, that wire is holding up and I haven't fallen into the world of unconsciousness but I feel like any second I could take that plummet. My hands shake wildly and shamelessly, sending the vodka inside the bottle in my hand sloshing audibly about. Something about this mundane moment strikes my funny bone and I start to giggle like an idiot before bringing the bottle to my lips and tongue kissing its mouth. The liquid feels warm as I swish it around in my mouth, like it hadn't been refrigerated in ever. Nevertheless I swallow it and follow it up with a bigger swig.

As the liquid falls down my throat, I slink further and further into the cushions of the couch and tilt the bottle further upwards, until it's completely vertical and every last drop of vodka falls towards the neck and out through the bottle's mouth, into mine. It doesn't take long for what’s left in the bottle to reach equilibrium; the disgusting lime flavored swill filling my mouth up almost completely. Gagging, I lift my head up and yank the neck of the bottle that I’d been basically deep throating out of my mouth and choke down all of it in one fell gulp. I cough as the alcohol floods down my throat, nipping at the lining of my esophagus and start to wonder why exactly I felt compelled to buy lime vodka.

Right, this is my life. Debating with myself about the quality of the alcohol I bought myself as if it really mattered. Being a freeloading piece of shit, crashing on my best friend’s couch because I won’t dare set foot in my dad’s house looking like the spitting image of my mom’s worst habit; and because I’d rather my mom see my blood soaked, mutilated corpse than see that we’ve ever had something in common.

As I reluctantly drop the bottle to the carpeted floor and roll over onto one side, hoping and praying for sleep to come quickly, I hear the last sound I want to.

The door swinging open.

“Would it kill ya to at least make an effort to lock the door?” Kara asks as she steps into the apartment, kicking her shoes off at the wall adjacent the door.

“Yes, actually,” I slur out as my mouth remembers that I haven't swallowed my tongue yet.

“Fucking Christ, how much have you had to drink?”

“Just a bit,” I answer, rolling back over onto my back, sighing. My breath’s positively soaked with the distinct smell of alcohol and as Kara walks over to where I lay, I cover my mouth with the palm of my trembling left hand.

“Yeah, I believe that. Totally.”

“Y’know? Fuck you. I don’t need you judging me, Kara.”

I say this, with my hand still covering my mouth. Probably for the best, because if she heard me, I’d be out on the street faster than I could apologize. And that’s under the assumption that I would at least attempt to apologize, which knowing me would be about as possible as hitting the lottery.

“What was that? Mmph mmph, mmph? You’re gonna have to speak up there Ken doll, didn’t quite catch that!”

Oh, of course. Of course she’s going there. She starts to giggle at her own stupid non-joke as I rip my hand from my mouth and reach aimlessly across my chest, hoping to at least hit her in the face. Instead, I hit her in the arm which only gets her to laugh harder, and despite the darkness, I just know she’s looking me right where she thinks my eyes are. What a gal. Though were the roles reversed, I’d more than likely be doing the same thing.

We have way too much in common.

“Oh, sorry Missus Flaherty, I thought you were my friend Karrera there for a second. You two sound alike, you know?”

For a split second; there’s silence. The bittersweet, judgment filled silence that I know only exists because she’s trying to make sense of what I just said.

“That shit doesn’t work when you like the fuck up. It sounded exotic.”

“Exotic? Come on! You’re whiter than me, and I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun!”

“Not that fair of an insult when the bottle gives you Alzheimer’s. By the by, it was Flaherty’s fuckin’ assistant who got our names wrong, genius.”

“I knew that,” I start, laughing for the first time in what feels like forever, “I was just--”

“Testing me? Looks like I passed. Again.”

Though she’s trying her best not to laugh, she’s on the verge of cracking though she almost immediately snaps herself out of it and puts on her stern, serious voice.

“Speaking of things that’ve happened way too fucking often as of late; your dad called while I was on my way home.”

“And?” I say, coming down off my temporary emotional high and dragging my right arm down to the carpet, frantically searching for the bottle to maintain the fleeting feeling.

“He is, and I quote: ‘very upset that you refuse to come home’. Needless to say, I had to try my absolute hardest not to laugh. Seriously. You’re a fucking grown up now, did he not get the memo?”

“He’s just worried.”

Yeah, I don’t know why I defend him sometimes.

“Right, right. I get that. Which is why I told him you’re moving in with me.”

“You did what?!”

I don’t even know why I’m so angry, but I am. My heart’s pounding, almost like its going to rip itself out of my chest and burst right on up through the ceiling. My already quivering hands shake furiously and with the last bit of my self control and up the intensity of my hunt for the bottle. I hope a swig of the would-be-vomit-inducing-if-only-I-had-standards concoction mellows me out because right now, I’m scared of myself.

“What the fuck’s your problem?”

“My problem,” I begin in almost a snarl to serve as the perfect mask to the tears welling up in my eyes, “is that people like to think that they know how I should live my life.”

“Calm your tits, I was just giving him some bullshit story so he’d shut the fuck up.”

“Oh,” I say, laying my head back on the arm of the couch and letting out the rest of my pent up frustration in a sigh. The pesky little unwanted, unneeded tear rolls down the side of my cheek anyway, and I wipe it away as quick as I can, before smearing my tearstained hand on my shirt.

“Another thing,” she says, moving closer to me and wrapping her arms around my shoulders, “You’re a terrible actress. Oh, also; brush your fucking teeth. My God, your breath smells like Last Call.”

“Right, I will tomorrow.”

“Perfect.”

This is where she pulls away from me, takes a few steps away, almost kicking over the bottle. Then, she stops, turns around, and clears her throat.

“For the record, you’re more than welcome to move in if you want. Fuck, you pretty much have as is, why not make it official?”

“Kara!” I say with a shocked gasp. “Don’t you think Jacob’ll get jealous?”

“Good night, Kendall,” she says with a laugh.

“Yeah…” I say as I settle into my bed for the night, “good night.”